After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

The words "Director He" were pinned to the screen, and Ma Donglin's pen tip was still hovering over that line.

Chen Ping stared at the screen for five seconds, then looked away from the screen and turned to Ma Donglin.

"This call record will be archived for now and will not be reported."

Ma Donglin opened his mouth, then closed it again, nodded, and dragged the file into the encrypted directory.

Chen Ping left the technical analysis room and stood at the door of the interrogation room again. Inside, Liu Chang sat alone, his hands on the table, his ten fingers interlocked, his fingernails turning bluish-white.

The cool white light illuminated the entire room without any blind spots.

Chen Ping pushed open the door and went in, this time pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Liu Chang didn't look up.

Chen Ping didn't rush to speak. He took out a brown paper envelope from his briefcase, opened it, and spread the materials inside out on the table, page by page.

The first page contains Liu Chang's academic records. He is from a rural area in Suzhou, Anhui Province. His father passed away early, and his mother worked as a caregiver in the village clinic, supporting him to complete his master's degree in materials science at Harbin Institute of Technology.

Page two, Promotion Recommendation Form. Signed by Sun Zhaohui, March of last year.

Page three contains a photocopy of a hospital payment receipt. Provincial Cancer Hospital, Inpatient Department, Patient Name: Liu Xiulan. Relationship: Mother. Diagnosis: Late-stage pancreatic cancer; recommended treatment with imported targeted therapy; cost of one course of treatment: 470,000 yuan.

Chen Ping pushed the third page in front of Liu Chang and pressed his thumb on the total amount on the payment slip.

"Your mother was diagnosed last October, hospitalized in November, and has undergone three rounds of treatment so far, costing 1.41 million."

Liu Chang's fingers twitched slightly, his interlocked fingers loosening and then tightening again.

"You graduated with a master's degree and went to the High-tech Zone as a deputy section chief, with an annual salary plus performance bonuses not exceeding 180,000 yuan. Where did the money for three courses of treatment come from?"

Liu Chang raised his head, his lips were dry and cracked, he licked them, and didn't make a sound.

Chen Ping leaned back, making a slight creaking sound as he propped the chair back up.

"I checked your bank statements. In November and December of last year, and January of this year, there was a monthly deposit of 470,000 yuan. The remitter was a trading company registered in Qianhai, Shenzhen, but the legal representative was a shell company."

He pushed the fourth page forward, which listed three transfer records.

"The actual controller chain of this company can be traced back two layers and ends up in an offshore structure."

Liu Chang's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

"Liu Chang, you come from a poor family. I've looked through your undergraduate and master's transcripts. You received scholarships every year, and your graduation thesis won the provincial award. It wasn't easy for you to reach the position of head of the technical department."

Chen Ping's voice didn't increase; in fact, it was even half a octave lower than before.

"But your mother's illness can't be delayed; a course of treatment costs 470,000 yuan, and you can't afford it alone. At this time, someone offered you a lifeline, and you accepted it."

Liu Chang's breathing began to tremble, and his shoulders shook.

Chen Ping did not stop.

"The person who took the rope won't just let you burn down one warehouse. Today it's setting a fire, what will it be tomorrow? Tampering with the pilot production line's process parameters? Or copying out the core patent's technical documents?"

"I've never touched the patent documents!"

Liu Chang finally spoke, his voice so hoarse it was almost cracking.

"I only did this one thing: they said to burn down the warehouse, and I didn't need to worry about anything else."

"Who said that?"

Liu Chang shut his mouth, pulled his hands back from the table to his knees, and sank into the back of the chair.

Chen Ping carefully put the materials on the table back into the envelope, page by page, in a slow and deliberate manner, stopping when he reached the last page.

"Liu Chang, do you know the sentencing range for arson?"

Liu Chang remained silent.

"Three to ten years. If it caused significant property damage, ten years or more. The warehouse you burned down had equipment valued at 170 million yuan on its books."

When that number hit, Liu Chang's body visibly swayed.

Chen Ping put the last page of paper away and placed the envelope in the center of the table.

"An arson case involving 170 million yuan, can you handle it all by yourself? Your mother is lying in the cancer hospital, who will pay for her fourth round of treatment?"

Liu Chang lowered his head, his forehead almost touching the table.

The silence lasted for nearly half a minute, with only the low hum of the air conditioner vents in the interrogation room.

"I've never met that person," Liu Chang said, each word squeezed out between clenched teeth. "From beginning to end, all communication was through a middleman."

Who is the middleman?

"I don't know his real name. The contact information he gave me was an address, Cuiwei Lane in the south of the city, an antique shop called 'Songtao Pavilion'. Whenever he had instructions, he would put a note inside a thread-bound book and place it on the old bookshelf at the entrance of the shop, the seventh book from the left in the third row."

Chen Ping pressed his thumb against the corner of the envelope, without moving it.

"How many times have you gone to pick it up?"

"Three times. The first time was to get the duty roster for the warehouse area, the second time was to draw the internal layout diagram of warehouse number 3, and the third time..."

Liu Chang swallowed hard.

"The third part was about the timing and method of ignition. The note was written in great detail, specifying where to start, what to use to ignite it, and the retreat route—everything was drawn up."

"Is the note still there?"

"Burned it. The rule is to burn it on the spot after each slip of paper is taken."

Chen Ping stood up and pushed the chair back under the table.

Have you met the owner of Songtao Pavilion?

"I saw him once, just a glimpse from afar. He was in his sixties, with completely white hair, wearing a Tang suit, and making tea in the inner room."

Chen Ping picked up the envelope and put it into his briefcase.

"Liu Chang, I will have someone take a statement about what you said tonight. Regarding your mother's medical expenses, if you fully cooperate with the investigation, I will coordinate with the medical insurance and civil affairs departments to apply for the major illness assistance program."

He walked to the door and placed his hand on the doorknob.

"But you need to understand one thing—the person who handed you the rope never intended to treat you as a human being. You were just a match, to be struck and then thrown away."

The door opened, closed, and the footsteps faded into the corridor.

Ma Donglin waited outside and handed over a cup of tea that had gone cold.

Chen Ping didn't take it, but handed him the briefcase instead.

"Songtao Pavilion, Cuiwei Alley, south of the city. Find out the owner's information tonight."

"Should I go myself?"

"No. Check first, but don't go any closer. This antique shop is the end of the trail; if we step on it too early, all the clues above will be broken."

Ma Donglin took the briefcase, turned around, and went into the office.

Chen Pingfang stood alone in the corridor, his back against the wall.

Songtao Pavilion. Thread-bound book. Paper slip.

This method of communication is so old-fashioned that it seems out of place in this era; there are no cell phones, no emails, and no electronic traces whatsoever. Anyone who uses this method to transmit instructions is either extremely cautious or has spent most of their life immersed in the field of intelligence.

In his sixties, with white hair, wearing a Tang suit, he was making tea.

At 4:11 a.m., a message from Ma Donglin popped up.

"Songtao Pavilion was registered in 2017. The legal representative is Wang Dexin, who is 64 years old and worked at the Provincial Government Office before retirement."

Chen Ping held the phone up to his face, his thumb resting on the screen.

General Office of the Provincial Government.

He scrolled down, and Ma Donglin attached a photo, a passport photo retrieved from the business registration system.

The person in the photo has graying temples, wears round-framed reading glasses, has a thin jawline, and exudes a scholarly air about him.

Chen Pingfang had seen this face before.

Three months ago, at an internal symposium in the provincial capital, the theme was a discussion of semiconductor industry policies. During the tea break afterward, Lin Xiangdong led him to a corner and introduced him to a retired senior leader.

"This is Mr. Wang. He worked in the General Office of the Provincial Government for thirty years, and was in charge of the science and technology sector. Now he has retired to grow flowers and plants and occasionally write calligraphy."

Wang Dexin smiled and shook hands with him, her palm dry and warm, and said, "Director Chen is young and promising. We old men have all seen how well the industries in Nanzhou are doing."

Chen Ping didn't think much of it at the time, just polite words and polite gestures.

Now, this face is superimposed on the three characters "Songtao Pavilion," and a cold line runs from the back of the spine all the way to the top of the head.

The phone screen was still lit, with Ma Donglin's photo pinned there.

Chen Ping hovered his thumb above the reply box, not letting it fall for a long time.